Book Snakes and Other Bookshop Dangers
by Laqueus
Summary: Things you can expect to find in second-hand bookshops: 1. Books, 2. Eccentrics, 3. A general musty smell. Things you don't expect to find in second-hand bookshops: 1. Giant snakes. [OC-centric, Aziraphale/Crowley]


_AN: This is based off a tumblr post I saw by heimurrin, but because this site forbids links, here's the post for context's sake._

"I keep seeing of fanart of Aziraphale sitting in his bookshop, either reading or sleeping, with a Very Large snake Crowley wrapped around his body and words cannot describe how much I love that but I can't stop thinking about some unsuspecting old book enthusiast coming into the store expecting some enriching conversation and _maybe_ a book this time and just seeing the owner all pristine in his white suit napping peacefully on his couch with this _supernaturally_ massive red and black snake wrapped around his body.

How do you react to that as a human? Do you start screaming in horror and wake the very nice owner who cannot seem to grasp what the problem is? Do you decide now probably isn't the best time and leave the premises to never return? Do you grab the biggest tome you can see and smack the snake in the head because you are SURE its plans are to eat the unconscious owner and subsequently get yourself banned for life? All of these seem reasonable"

oOoOoOo

Aditya Anand, - Adi to his mates - 34, accountant, blood type O positive, was having a humdrum day. It was the sort of day that _could_ have been a bad day, but hadn't really committed or applied itself to the concept, and so was just filled with minor annoyances. If days were shrugs, then this one was a half-hearted tilt of the shoulders accompanied by an 'ehhh'. He'd had to come on a training course – an event that would cast a cloud over any normal day – in London, which meant a commute in – another mild annoyance – and the weather all day had been a steady drizzle, meaning that he'd spent the day in a state of mild dampness that never quite graduated into being properly _wet_. On those sorts of days, the natural buoyancy of the human spirit tended to swing into play. _It's not really a bad day. I mean, when you look at, it's not like your car has broken down, or you've spilled tea on yourself, or you've made a tit of yourself in front of David, that nice guy from HR. And there weren't any delays on the train, and you didn't have do any roleplay on the course, so you can't really go around calling this day _bad_, y'know?_

Unfortunately, whilst this uplifting frame of mind would be useful on a day when you're feeling normal, a). it never really kicks in on days like that, and b). all it does do on a not-very-good day is cancel the bad out without elevating things into a state of 'good', meaning that the day bobs around a boring, neutral no-man's-land of malaise.

Which was how on a mizzly day, feeling a tad fed-up and with a mild headache, Adi found himself in Soho. The course had (thankfully) finished half an hour before, and now he didn't have any concrete goal that kept him in the city. Instead Adi was merely idling around until peak time was over and he'd be able to leave with his (unfortunately) off-peak ticket. He sighed. London always gave him a headache, and he vaguely wondered if it was something in the air. Probably. He tromped along the road, hoping there was a nearby pub he could park himself in for a little while, little related fantasies of asking David for a drink flitting around his subconscious-

And saw the bookshop.

A beam of light didn't shine down from above, nor did celestial beings sing, but for Adi they might as well have. He trundled to a halt without realising it, his laptop bag bumping against his hip. The bookshop wasn't a chain one, like a Waterstones, or a Blackwell's, or even The Works – though to see The Works in Soho of all places would be like seeing a panda at the North Pole. It was obviously an independent seller, and one that'd been open for a very, very long time at that. There was no proper display in the window, which was highly unusual, and the windows themselves were definitely old-fashioned. Then again, Adi reckoned, this was London, and everything in it was often odd in an expensive way. Whereas being odd in other town would make your business sink like an osmium anchor, in London it could _afford_ to be like that. Be strange, stand out, and business will come your way. (Hopefully.)

Above the window a red-and-gold sign proclaimed the shop's name: _A.Z. FELL AND Co_.

It continued: _PURVEYOR OF BOOKS TO THE GENTRY_

All vague plans of pubs forgotten, Adi scurried across the road like a cat towards cream. Numbers and spreadsheets were his business, but books and letters were his holiday.

There didn't seem to be a list of opening times on the door, and he couldn't spot them in any of the windows either, either, but, ah! The lights were on, and there was definitely someone sitting inside and reading. Adi paused. Just one person? Perhaps they were staff, or the owner. He peered in through the glass again, squinting at the figure as he tried to guess what they were. Hmm. They appeared to be an oddly-dressed man wearing a scarf. Well, that settled it, decided Adi, who in his heart had already committed to going in. Only a customer would sit in a bookshop wearing a scarf; it was clear that the man had come in from outside. He tried the door, and met with no resistance, further reinforcing his 'They Are Open' theory. Upon stepping inside, the familiar scent of old books immediately filled Adi's nose; musty and slightly eye-watering at first. He felt his face automatically relax into a smile. There was nothing quite like a second-hand bookshop.

The accumulated irritations of the day dropped away, and feeling like he'd come home, Adi began to meander. He whistled under his breath at the selection; these were some serious tomes, most of them old, and many of them in pristine condition. This wasn't like the Oxfam bookshop down the road from his flat, with its dodgy selection of 70's paperbacks; this was the sort of bookshop that major book collectors would frequent. Unfortunately, it also meant that it was way out of Adi's price range. A wistful expression crossed his face; he'd just have to content himself with browsing.

As he wandered between the shelves, he caught odd snatches of conversation; something about the bookshop seemed to muffle any and all outside sounds, shutting out London's general clamour.

"Yes, I know, my dear, but I don't think they were thinking about that when they wrote it."

Another voice, much lower in volume, responded, dancing around the edge of Adi's hearing. He shrugged it off; the guy was probably on the phone or was wearing a bluetooth or something. Wonder what the owner thought of that?

"Oh, and I suppose you were there?"

_Murmur murmur._

"Oh, come now! I know you weren't! If I recall, you were swanning about in Malaysia." This exclamation was followed by laughter that was trying to be incredulous but seemed too nice.

_Murmur murmur._

Adi smiled to himself, and continued browsing.

It is a well-known fact that time does not properly exist in bookshops, especially in second-hand ones. Minutes and hours might try to exert their influence, but bookshops are the true realm of letters, and so the effect of numbers is muffled, a distorted radio signal from far away. So it was a little while before Adi noticed that the bookshop had gone strangely quiet, silence reigning over it.

Passing by a gap in the shelving, Adi glanced to his left and once again caught sight of the seated reader. The man was clearly some kind of eccentric, dressing like he'd either forgotten what century it was or was a very modern member of the Sealed Knot. That wasn't to say he wasn't impeccably dressed; the man certainly had style, themed in an assortment of creams and browns. He was also sitting rather still.

And… and…

The smile slid off Adi's face, and the blood in his veins turned to ice.

That wasn't a scarf.

He darted behind a bookcase like a mouse that'd just spotted the shadow of a kestrel, then briefly peeked out.

A snake lay wrapped around the man, coils languorously draped over him like an expensive fur stole. It wasn't like any snake Adi had seen before, nor was it like any of the ones where he came from, which admittedly was Milton Keynes, and so only had a selection of half-crazed grass snakes, but still. It was a king among snakes; dark, thick, impossibly large, and gleaming like a well-oiled piece of leather. Red and black melded and flowed across its scales, the colours almost seeming to glow with some inner fire.

It was the sort of snake that looked like it'd have the starring role in a cheapo made-for-tv horror film; the concept of a snake taken to an exaggerated extreme, with all the boring _nature_ parts removed. Those sorts of snakes – born from films with titles like _Snakemagddon! _and _The Hissing Death_ and _Black Mamba 3: Fangs For The Memories_ \- were death machines that were too outlandish and fantastic to exist in real life, whereas real snakes were just another animal trying to get by and live - basically a living piece of hosepipe that ate and slept and occasionally exuded crystals instead of piss. And if you were to compare the two - rubber models, props and questionable, _questionable_ CGI, versus a coiled corn snake idly eyeing you from its terrarium – then the contrast was obvious. In Adi's eyes, this snake would have definitely belonged to the former fakey-fake category, if not for the fact that there was something horribly real - _primal_, even - about it. It was like the grandfather of all snakes, and it was an easy job for Adi's imagination to conjure up an image of it sliding through a dense, prehistoric jungle from the dawn of time. Even without looking, Adi knew that its fangs would be like an elegant pair of curving, needle-like daggers; its venom would probably be the sort that bubbled and hissed, eating away anything it came into contact with. If you'd stripped away its scales, then the word 'sinuous' would stretch through it in a great long line, like so:

_ SINUOUS_

If you were to peel back Adi's skin and prise open his skull, diving deep into the oldest part of his brain – the bit that was a hand me down from the earliest days of humanity before it even knew it was humanity and had a tendency to screech and leap about in trees – and listened very carefully, you would have heard a little conversation taking place.

"Hey," said pre-humanity, nodding conversationally. "That's a ruddy big snake, that is."

"So it is," agreed Adi's subconscious. It _was_ a big snake.

"Snakes are dangerous. They'll eat you up, they will." Pre-humanity said this with a sage-like air, as if it was imparting a nugget of great wisdom, and again Adi's subconscious had to agree.

There was a brief pause as pre-humanity scratched itself, inspected its hand-like paw, before it continued. "Might I suggest climbing a tree to escape? Or perhaps hitting it with a stick?"

"Hmm," said Adi's subconscious. That sounded like good advice, but something about it was meshing poorly with his modern-day brain and the information about his present environment stored there. So instead he responded with: "Goodbye."

On the surface level, Adi was unaware that the conversation had taken place; the only indication he'd was a change in the chemicals sloshing around him, manifesting itself in fun little ways like making him stand very, very still, along with a shiver creeping up his spine, and sheer, blistering fear. He also suddenly wanted a stick to arm himself with, or if not a stick, something large and heavy.

With the same air as a WWI soldier poking his head above the trench edge, Adi peeked out from behind the bookcase.

The man was still motionless, but now his head was lolling to one side.

Adi felt the blood drain out of his face. Oh hell, the snake was killing the man and oh shit oh fuck here he was in a weird spooky bookshop in London's gay district and there was a giant prehistoric snake killing a weirdly-dressed man right in front of him and any moment now it would unhinge its jaw and eat him and _he had to do something!_

Biting back a small, hysterical shriek, Adi grabbed the biggest, heaviest book closest to him.

'_Sexology of the Bible: the fall and redemption of man and a matter of sex_' the title proudly proclaimed, by one Sidney C. Tapp. The date on the spine listed it as coming from 1915. A modern read, then.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, and quickly crept out from his shelter. Eyes locked onto the snake, he edged across the room as fast as he dared, aware that every second counted, that's the man, no, _victim's _life was draining away like sand in an hourglass. He was also painfully aware that he was about hit a proverbial wasps' nest, unleashing all the frenzied action that accompanied it.

'_Be brave, Aditya,_' he thought.

Closer… closer… There!

Arms trembling with adrenaline and exertion, Adi stood before both man and snake. He hefted the book above his head, preparing to swing down…

"Don't," said a voice.

Adi shrieked, and jumped a foot in the air. Then he did a double take, and almost dropped the book. The eccentric man's eyes were open, looking straight at him.

"I thought I locked the door," said the man. To Adi's surprise, it was a completely different voice to the one that'd just spoken. In the next second, the man's eyes fixed on the book, taking in Adi's stance and expression. Bewilderment was painted across his face. "What are you doing?"

"Gkh," said Adi. He gave a tiny nod – more of a spasm – towards the snake and-

it was looking at him the snake was looking at him aaaaaaaa

"What? Crowley?" The Eccentric – for that was how Adi had now internally christened him - sat up, looking in a befuddled manner at the loops and loops of giant snake that were trailing over him. He looked back and forth between the snake – Crowley? – and Adi. Then his brows knit together in an indignant manner.

"Were you going to hit Crowley with that?" he asked, sounding like someone had just told him that they punched babies for a living.

"Erm, w-well, I-I thought…" stammered Adi, his mouth dry. The snake was still staring at him, and it was sending little panic signals through Adi's brain. "Y-yes?"

"No!" exclaimed the man. "How could you! He'd be quite cross if you do that, and- and so will I for that matter! I mean really, threatening dear Crowley!"

He stood sharply, the snake still coiling around him, and Adi stumbled back. 'Dear Crowley's' virulent yellow eyes seemed to bore into Adi, and it was the strangest thing, but he could almost swear that the snake looked like it was enjoying itself. Fear was still steadily thrumming through him, but it was slowly beginning to be tainted by a general bizarre feeling of '_What the fuck_'.

Adi's voice was very, very small. "But… the snake… I- I thought... he was hurting you." He finished lamely, feeling like a child in front of a headmaster.

There was a moment of silence. In that moment, Adi saw The Eccentric's eyes flit between all three of them, bouncing from figure to figure, before finally dropping off to one side. The Eccentric sighed sharply, then brought his gaze back up.

"Well," he began, his tone trying to be light and understanding but coming off as mildly strained. "I suppose you are only human. And a fear of snakes is to be expected. So, I forgive you."

There was something about his final proclamation of forgiveness, which put Adi in mind of an official statement. He half expected the words 'I Forgive You' to each begin with a capital letter.

"Er," he began, lowering the book.

The snake looked at the cover, and promptly burst out laughing. Adi jumped, and could only stare in a fear-riddled state of disorientation as the snake continued to laugh. There was something deeply wrong about hearing a voice, a human voice, come out of that diamond-shaped mouth, and, oh, look. He was right about the fangs. Unfortunately, Adi suddenly realised something; the snake's laugh was the same one as the voice that'd told him 'Don't'. He gaped, mouth opening and closing as sound tried and failed to come out. Internally, his mind shrugged, and merrily tipped itself over into mild hysteria.

"Were. Were you talking to the snake earlier?" he blurted out. "W-was the snake talking?" With each word Adi's voice shot up an octave until it was a strangled wheeze that would've upset bats.

Was he now in some crazy world where madmen dressed like old aristocrats got cross with you for trying to save them from giant talking snakes in bookshops? What the hell was going on?

The snake was continuing to laugh, and then-

"Yes," it said. "Having a right old chat, we were."

Instinct is a powerful thing. It's a little red-hot poker of a tool that causes people to jump out of the way of oncoming cars, that causes them to shin up trees when a lion is near, that enables them to simply act without the messy thoughts of brain getting in the way. Furthermore, even without going into the Biblical history of human and snake – you will tread on his head, he will bite your heel etc. etc. – studies have found that humans, along with monkeys, have evolved especially to detect and fear snakes. This isn't entirely correct; they didn't so much develop it, rather, it was automatically built in for reasons unknown to humans and known to higher powers.

Adi was aware of neither of those things, as they both combined to form his next, instinct-driven instantaneous action.

He swung like a champion cricketer. A powerful _THWACK_ rang out in the confines of the bookshop. The snake toppled to the floor; The Eccentric screamed.

The next second it fountained upwards, like a king cobra poised to strike, hissing furiously. Horror bloomed anew in Adi. He stumbled backwards, feet tripping over themselves. He- he had to get out of there. This wasn't a bookshop, it was some portal into a dimension of crazy!

"How dare you! Hitting my friend! Manhandling my books!" With a sharp tug, The Eccentric snatched _Sexology of the Bible_ away from the shaking Adi. "I have no choice but to ban you from my establishment! For life!" He gave a little nod, as if affirming himself of this decision.

The light in the bookshop flared in an odd way, and for the briefest snatch of a second, Adi got the distinct sensation of something _holy_; as if a shielding curtain had been drawn aside and was now letting in harsh sunlight. Not just holy, but old, too. Impossibly, impossibly old. It radiated out from The Eccentric; he seemed larger somehow, as if there was more to him than just the body standing in front of Adi.

As stated before, this impression of something more, something _other_ occurred in a fraction of a second, and for Adi, it was rather like smashing his brain into one of those pin boards that made a three-dimensional impression when pressed. The human brain can only take so much unfiltered strangeness before it decides to tap out, and that was just what Adi's did.

He blacked out.

oOo

Adi came to standing on a street corner in Soho. He looked around, right, left, right once more. What'd he been doing again? There was a strangely blank spot in his memory; he'd crossed the street, but why? Why had he come over here? What'd enticed him this way?

_A pub,_ his memory prompted. _You were looking for a pub?_

Oh, yeah, that was it. With a practised air, he quickly checked his watch. _7:04_ the face proudly proclaimed.

"What? Seven?" muttered Adi to himself. Where had the time gone? "Must've lost track…"

He set off the nearest tube station without casting a backwards glance, but it was the strangest thing; something felt ever so slightly off within his mind, like it was trying to divert his attention from the blank spot. Almost like it _knew_ something, and was trying to keep that information from him. But as Adi clattered his way through London on a variety of underground carriages, the feeling subsided, and by the time he was leaving, it'd vanished completely. The gap had knitted together, and in Adi's mind he had spent his time wandering around Soho aimlessly. The only remnant was a slightly maddened spark of fear that manifested itself as a thought, which was:

'_I think I'll ask David out for a drink_.'

Which Adi later did.

But he never returned to – or even remembered the existence of – A.Z. FELL AND Co.

oOo

"He hit you! With a book! The nerve of some people, really; no respect for anyone or anything." Aziraphale muttered furiously to himself as he replaced the book, a little tirade in the key of _angry angel._

"Angel, you have the weirdest sense of priorities." That remark came from Crowley, who was presently human-looking, and presently sprawled across a chair in his usual manner. "We've literally faced down Armageddon, and this is what you react to? S'hardly like I'm gonna get discorperated from a book. Still," he continued, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "Sexology of the Bible, eh?"

He was rewarded with some undignified spluttering from Aziraphale that eventually resolved into "I have- it's for- it's not as exciting as you're insinuating. Besides, the author is quite misguided."

"I'll bet he is," came the snide reply.

Aziraphale strode back over, ignoring the remark. "Anyway, it's not like you helped matters, laughing away in front of him. Still, this is an important lesson. I must remember to lock the doors in future. Goodness knows I don't like having to ban people."

"Ehh, s'one less human fiddling with your collection," shrugged Crowley.

"Yes, but," Aziraphale paused. "It's the principle of the matter." He neatly seated himself, and when he looked over at Crowley, a massive, red-and black snake stared back. "Now. Where were we?"

"Well, you were asleep, and I was about to get smacked with a book," said Crowley, as he slithered back into position.

Although Aziraphale tutted, making a protesting noise, his free hand drifted across Crowley's scales in a familiar, soothing gesture. Soon the two were settled, and a companionable silence filled the old bookshop once more.

oOoOoOo

_AN: Fun Fact: Sexology of the Bible is a real book and it is exactly as dry as you'd expect._


End file.
